


Burning Lotus: Allegiance

by WoozySloth



Series: The Burning Lotus [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Agni Kai (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Betrayal, Book 1: Water (Avatar), Burns, Canon-Typical Violence, Changing Tenses, Episode: s01e01 The Boy in the Iceberg, Episode: s01e09 The Waterbending Scroll, Firebending & Firebenders, Gen, Honor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Anguish, Misunderstandings, Pre-Canon, Revenge, Smarm, Victim Blaming, Western Air Temple, Zhao Is Still A Jerk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoozySloth/pseuds/WoozySloth
Summary: Zhao's loyalty lies with Zhao first. Reduced to serving two princes of questionable status, however, might be his last, best hope at climbing to the top.And if the opportunity for revenge on his former master, now the most influential Admiral in the Fire Navy, should present itself...
Relationships: Iroh & Zhao (Avatar), Jeong Jeong & Zhao (Avatar), Zhao & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: The Burning Lotus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861912
Comments: 27
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to draw on 'Water Tribe' a webcomic from a few years ago, for the idea of a Zhao who is both somehow sympathetic and still in character. You should check it out - https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Webcomic/WaterTribe  
> Personally, I went for the 'No Self Control' deviantart link to read it.
> 
> Anyway, set-up chapter.

His head hurt. Opening his eyes, he permitted himself a bit of mild internal blasphemy, and cursed the Sun for blinding him so very painfully.

He'd missed the dawn - an unusual event for a firebender or a career military man, and Zhao was both.

 _Had been_ both.

The reminder did nothing for his mood or his headache. Zhao groaned, half-wondering if perhaps he should reject the Sun's blessing and instead sleep the day away. If only he could do the same for every day. There was nothing left now - his only recourse for anything more than passing mediocrity would be firebending competitions or exhibitions, but such things were intricately connected to the military, and any respectable tournaments or sponsors would surely balk at the idea of taking on Zhao the Cursed. He could feel the fire within him rising at the thought of their scorn, and he let out a low growl.

"Some tea might improve your mood."

Zhao had a fire blast the size of a komodo rhino coming out of his fist before he recognised the voice.

A blast that he had the dubious honour of seeing trivially dispelled by one of the most famous men in the Fire Nation - the Dragon of the West caught the blast in his hands, redirecting it to the ceiling, then separated it into dozens of tiny flickers in midair with a motion of his hands, little flames that fizzled out almost as soon as they were created.

All this, from a comfortably seated position on Zhao's floor. Breathing heavily, Zhao wasn't sure whether to feel relieved that he had not killed the Fire Lord's brother while incapacitated, or insulted that the man had apparently been in no danger whatsoever. The retired general smiled at him genially.

"I see your reflexes have not been dulled by shore leave!" Said the old man who had gone entirely undetected until choosing to speak.

Zhao snorted. Normally, he would never have countenanced snorting in the presence of, or indeed _at_ , such a recognisable figure. But the statement was ridiculous, and Zhao's dreams of social mobility had gone the same way as the fire that Iroh had just dispelled.

"'Shore leave'."

Iroh's smile softened, taking on a more sympathetic cast - it was really quite impressive. If Zhao had been a more naive man, that particular smile would have made him feel understood without being pitied. It was the sort of political move Zhao himself was not entirely skilled at. He was never able to model such expressions without revealing some level of disdain. With the rules of etiquette, and when interacting with his social inferiors, it had never really been a problem. But etiquette had only given people leave to laugh out of the side of their mouths rather than to his face, and the list of people below him on the social hierarchy was much smaller than he would have preferred it to be. Even the men in the bar last night...Zhao wondered if that was what this was about. If a member of the Royal Family was here to upbraid him about his 'conduct' while back in the Fire Nation, then maybe he was moving up in the world.

"Do you have any ginseng tea? It's my favourite."

* * *

Zhao had to admit, between the tea and the Sun's rays streaming in through the window, he was feeling something more like a human being. A very confused human being, but then he was having tea with a man whose tactics he had studied throughout his training, and who in a another life would have been his divinely appointed ruler.

_A man who let the world slip through his grasp...what a fool._

But a dangerous fool, as that little firebending trick had displayed. Zhao may not have been at his peak, but his ability to produce large quantities of flame at a moment's notice was one of the few things that he was well-regarded for.

_Except for the opinions that mattered, of course._

Perhaps he should recover his manners for this meeting after all. While he doubted he could win Iroh's patronage, or that it would do much for him even if he could, making an enemy of _a_ _nother_ 'big name' in the Fire Nation was the last thing he needed. One old military legend had already managed to ruin his life. Another one...

_"Drink this, and let's have less of this spirit talk, hmm?"_

No. He would have to make an effort.

"While the Fire Lord's brother is, of course, always welcome in my...humble abode," and humble it was, he thought to himself, "what brings you to my home?"

Iroh sipped his tea, something he did with more enjoyment in his face than Zhao would have previously thought possible to derive from the drink.

"It appears - should you agree, of course - that we are to be travelling companions."

Zhao's eyebrows furrowed.

"Agree to what?" 

"To accompany my nephew on his quest."

Struggling to remind himself that the obtuse old man sipping his tea and making him play games for information was both a former Prince and a retired General, Zhao found his tea was becoming rather hot while it remained in his hands.

"A quest for what, may I ask?"

"The Avatar."

The words hung in the air like a dragon, a cruel mockery of the word 'quest'. Zhao was aware, even in the haze in which he had spent the last few weeks, of the young Prince's banishment. Everything was shrouded in smoke, the most concrete details being the Prince had done 'something' and would be banished for 'some time', with his return being conditional on 'someone'.

With that 'someone' being a figure unseen for a hundred years, the message was clear to anyone with a brain - the Prince was never coming home.

"I see. And why have I been offered this," Zhao hesitated over what word to use, because the whole thing was so farcical as to defy description, "opportunity?"

"I believe it is your ship that the Prince will be availing of for the journey."

"My ship was decommissioned. It seems unlikely that I will be given command of another." _More like impossible._

"So I have the honour of bringing you the good news? Excellent. Your fine vessel has been brought back into active service just for this mission!"

Ah, he was being used as a further insult to Prince Zuko. He _had_ risen high, these last few years. Zhao's 'ship' was so old Sozin himself had probably been alive to offhandedly call it a piece of junk while perusing the harbour. 

"And my 'shore leave' has come to an end?"

"Should you wish it."

"And my crew?"

"On that, of course, you would know best. I would not wish to step on your toes. But I am given to understand they have all been transferred to other vessels, and would need to fill out the requisite paperwork to serve under you again."

He had to repress another snort.

"I find their return...unlikely."

"Oh?" The old man asked, the very picture of innocence. "Then perhaps you can ask around? We really must assemble a crew quite quickly. The Prince's exile comes into effect very soon - he will not be able to stay in the Fire Nation for long."

What had he been thinking about not making enemies?

"I don't appreciate your games, General Iroh."

"Retired," the General replied, sipping his tea.

"Regardless. You know that no Naval man with any other options would choose to work with Zhao the Cursed. Admiral Jeong Jeong's influence is limitless. If I board that ship again, there's not a soul alive who will board it with me."

"Except, of course, my nephew and myself. You underestimate my own influence, Lieutenant Zhao."

...Lieutenant?

"I haven't held that rank in some time."

"I felt it would only be proper, if you are to captain a ship once more."

That...was not nothing. Perhaps there was something to be said for allying with the former General Iroh after all.

"Still. A hunt for the Avatar?"

"I can see you would be loath to leave your home so soon, when you had expected to be here for a longer duration."

 _To be here forever_ , went unspoken, but Zhao could hear it all the same. It was the same refrain that had been playing in his own head, over and over, since the ship had been taken out of service, and Zhao was left to wait in his meagre little home, with his meagre wages, for...nothing. He had felt it, when they had finally taken him off of his non-assignment of a posting. They were going to let him rot here, a non-entity for the rest of his miserable life. That was his teacher's final revenge. No longer even infamy, but nothingness.

Steam was pouring out of his cup, and it was only when Zhao heard a _crack_ in the cheap cup that he realised he was about to set his own hand on fire.

_"Without control, it will consume everything around it. You will destroy yourself, you fool."_

_Oh, but you stepped in to help, didn't you master?_

Zhao placed the cup on the table, where it burned a ring into the wood. He didn't care.

"Fine."

Iroh smiled again, and Zhao had a powerful, beautifully clear image of a ball of fire smashing into that benign, aged face.

"Wonderful! The Prince will be delighted to have such an experience captain at the helm, I'm sure. I will send a messenger with the details, this afternoon. And my recommendations for the crew, if that is acceptable."

"Of course, General Iroh." _Staff it with whatever toadies and rejects you like, old man._

The old man gave the customary goodbyes and left with yet another damned smile on his face.

Left alone again, Zhao poured himself a drink of a different kind, and gazed out at the miserable port he'd been forced to make his home.

It was hardly the herald of a glorious return, but it would be a way out of this place. And perhaps there was something to be gained from travelling around the world with two ex-princes (for Zuko's banishment had effectively removed him from the Royal Family). Connections to be forged, information to be gained. It would be a way to wait out his damaged reputation without having it constantly rubbed in his face.

And there would be a young, malleable, potentially influential mind on board. Zuko was an ex-Prince _now,_ yes. But he wasn't quite out of the game just yet. If anything happened to Ozai or Azula, the boy might be back in with a shot. That was to say nothing of the 'banished Prince' narrative perhaps even gaining some romantic clout in a few years - the people loved a story, loved mystery. If Zhao happened to be a mentor, an influence, should any of this come to pass?

Yes. Yes, there was potential here.

Zhao snorted at his own optimism.

_Next I'll be telling myself he might actually find the Avatar._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Zhao being a jerk, scar leakage.

The first time Zhao sees the Prince, it takes all of his self-control not to snort a laugh. The huge bandage covering half the boy's face explains everything about his exile, for what Fire Lord would suffer an heir who burns his own face off? Zhao is half-tempted to leave the ship already, out of sheer embarrassment at the ridiculousness of the wound.

The child is too entitled to be embarrassed, of course, or at least well-trained enough not to show it. His head, shaved but for the topknot, does that for him - the traditional style for those who have shamed themselves. A bit much, really. He stands rigid, visible eye (would the other one still be working?) scanning over Zhao and his assembled 'crew' with...well, with all the disgust Zhao himself feels, probably. One would think the Dragon of the West could summon a more formidable host than this bottom-of-the-barrel collection of rejects. At least they could field a small fighting force out of this miserable collection - though Zhao suspects that the 'ground' troops are just that, leftovers from the infamous Siege of Ba Sing Se who were shipped over and back, and have no more naval experience than that. Furthermore, Zhao will stake his topknot on every member of this crew being one of two types - those who owe Iroh their lives, or those who have no lives worth living.

_And what category do *you* fall under, my pupil?_

The voice stabs at him out of nowhere, finding the weakness in him as it always had, and Zhao no longer has the youthful surety of himself that had let him bear those digs at his ego. Or the option to set anything on fire, which is what he really wants to do.

He buries it, feeding the flame inside him so that he might unleash it later, and turns on the charm.

"Prince Zuko!" Zhao smiles, and bows at exactly the appropriate degree - probably a bit much, he thinks, considering the boy barely qualifies as royalty anymore. Still, if these two off-market Royals are his last recourse for success, he might as well try and make the most of them. "It is an honour to serve with you. Your possessions are stowed safely in your quarters, and -"

"Fine." Zhao looks up at the interruption, and that one eye is looking _through_ him. It doesn't seem to take anything in, and Zhao looks for some measure of 'spark', some fire in that bright gold orb. "We make for the Western Air Temple. Get this tub moving."

And then he walks by Zhao, by all of them, and into the ship. A metal door slams.

_Brat._

Iroh smiles at them apologetically, and then declares he's going to go make some tea.

_Wonderful._

Zhao turns his energies to barking orders at the crew, just barely restraining himself from spitting fire, wondering what kind of fools _exactly_ he's hitched his fate to.

* * *

Their first week is probably the most peaceful one. The Prince's decision to visit the Western Air Temple is hardly an original idea, but it's true that it's the least explored of the Temples despite its proximity to the Fire Nation.

Prince Zuko does not seem to think the Temple being upside down on a mountain is going to be a significant obstacle. At least he has determination. Fortunately, none of the crew are expected to head up there _with_ him, or at least it hasn't been said. Zhao doesn't think he could restrain his sarcasm if the Prince requested bodyguards - the thought of anyone taking this Avatar hunt _seriously_ would be too much. _"Yes, of course, the Avatar could attack us at any second."_

The first time Prince Zuko deigns to actually strike up a conversation is...edifying.

"This isn't right."

Zhao turns to face the Prince, who is remarkably quiet when he wants to be, and, as he will discover, remarkably loud when he doesn't want to be.

"Yes, Prince Zuko?"

He has all the time in the world to get this brat on his side, but Zhao will throw himself into the sea if he doesn't also have some respect in that deal. The Prince scowls, and Zhao briefly wonders, disgustedly, if he's made the boy cry when he spots some liquid under the bandage. But no, he realises, the boy just scowled so hard that his wound has started weeping. Zhao holds back the sneer of revulsion that threatens to take over his face at that particular realisation.

_Perhaps the boy should go back to staying in his quarters for a few days._

"We need to be going North."

"Yes."

"This is _north-west._ "

"Very astute," and Zhao gives his most charming, 'well done' smile. The Prince does not seem impressed.

"We need to correct our course!" The Prince shouts, and the assertion rattles and rebounds off of their vessel's metal insides impressively. When Zhao had asked the boy's uncle, politely, what it was that he was doing in his quarters all day, Iroh had replied 'breathing exercises', which Zhao took to be some sort of euphemism. He believes it now. That raspy little voice belies a serious pair of lungs.

"I assure you, I've been at sea for a number of years -"

"So you know how to steer a ship!"

"Exactly." And oh, his teeth are starting to hurt he's gritting them so hard. Zhao has a very clear mental image of searing the child's mouth shut.

"So steer it North!"

Zhao takes a deep breath, as his own master had once taught him (oh, that thought doesn't help this situation _at all_ ) and he's not entirely what's going to come out on the exhale - admonition, compromise, gust of fire - when Iroh bustles into the room.

"Nephew, there you are! I had thought we might do some stance-work today."

"My stance is fine!" Zuko's response sounds a bit more familiar than Zhao would like, though he should be grateful his uncle doesn't call him a wastrel savage every thirty seconds, like a proper teacher. "What I need is a crew who listens to directions!"

"Ah, but Lieutenant Zhao is a naval man with many years of experience. If he is not conforming to those orders, perhaps you should give him a chance to explain? Listen to the sound of the ocean, and you will catch a fish. Perhaps, if the captain has brought some of that fine ginseng of his, we may discuss the matter over tea?" The old man smiles, because of course he does.

Zuko snorts, echoing Zhao's own feelings on having to explain the basics of seafaring, then turns back to Zhao with a glare.

"Fine. Tell me what you're doing."

Zhao's first 'lesson' to the Prince on the vagaries of tides and winds, and how to approach land, and so on and so forth, feels more like an interrogation than anything else.

It's probably more comfortable for everyone that way.

* * *

When the Prince returns from the Temple, he seems both angrier and more determined, and Zhao legitimately cannot understand the reaction. Could he have actually expected...?

No. No, that was ridiculous. Zhao patiently waits for the Prince's orders, which he hopes are not driven by any delusion they will actually find the Avatar. Zhao has worked for enough madmen in his time, thank you. A petulant teenage madman would really be too much to bear.

"Northern Air Temple."

At least the boy is concise.

* * *

They have to stop on the way. Of course they have to stop on the way. It's dangerous to be at sea for long, and stupid not to rest when there are so many ports along the coast that will take them - there's a swathe of Fire Nation territory that Zuko is not, technically, they think, banned from.

It should not be an argument.

"We stay on course!"

Of course, that doesn't mean it _isn't_ an argument.

"We need to rest," not even a month into this whole venture, and Zhao desperately wants to go into a port, drink things he shouldn't and fight someone that probably deserves it. 

"What we _need_ is to pick up the Avatar's trail!"

No. Oh, no.

The little fool actually thinks this is a mission.

"Nephew, the Avatar has not been seen in a hundred years - "

"So no one has _looked_ hard enough!"

"- so I doubt he is going anywhere soon, wherever he is. Besides, you are injured - you do not want to fight in this state."

The Prince's next words come out in a hiss, low and furious, but Zhao picks up the words 'babying me'.

"A strong foundation makes for a mighty fortress, Prince Zuko. Your firebending basics are your greatest weapons."

Zuko looks about as convinced by that as Zhao was when he had the same kind of drivel spouted at him.

"We also need to resupply. And it is best to make repairs when docked, Prince Zuko."

"This ship needs repairs already? It hasn't even been a month!"

Zhao wants to tell him that this particular ship will probably need repairs every other week, but he's had enough shouting and posturing for one day. Besides. The boy will figure it out soon enough.

* * *

They end up making several stops along the way, to the Prince's great and vocal displeasure. At almost every port, the two Royals are invited to some meal or other, and Zuko comes back in a fouler mood than ever, having somehow not gathered beforehand that he was there to be gawked at by faux-sympathetic nobles. The governors are a breed apart - Zhao observes them from a careful distance, and through the lens of their Earth Kingdom 'labourers'. Older colonies are more or less the same as any other Fire Nation village back home, but the newer ones are ruled by a gallery of would-be provincial Fire Lords. Perhaps, if Zhao had been allowed to carry out his own plans, shape his own career...

No. To even think about such things is dangerous.

Besides being something of a travelling freak, the one thing that truly seems to irk Prince Zuko is that he does not get to spend enough time in any of the libraries that he visits. Or rather, that he isn't simply given whatever scroll he takes a fancy to. There's a look in Zuko's eyes, a calculating gleam that Zhao doesn't like to see in someone who is both nominally in charge of him, and not especially prone to thinking things out. Fortunately, it never seems to come to anything. Not this time.

(Months later, when they sail back this way, or near enough, Zhao will notice that there is extra security everywhere, and wanted posters for...some sort of opera enthusiast?)

One thing that _does_ cheer Zuko up, however, is the scrolls that his uncle brings back from tea with Colonel Shinu at Pohuai. Apparently there's another favour owed there, because tricks of the trade from the commander of the Yuyan Archers certainly don't come cheap. Zhao himself wouldn't mind a look, but that would involve asking the Prince. Getting that petulant scowl, and a door slammed in his face, and to be expected to just take it? The ship might be made of metal, but that doesn't mean Zhao can't set it on fire. He is very good at setting unexpected things on fire.

The thought of it alone is enough to get him back on his drills, which for him mostly means firing great bursts of flame into the sky. Even the soldiers who can firebend observe the display with some awe and fear - which is gratifying. Things had been getting far too chummy already. He thinks one of them might have even dared to make eye contact, so naturally he must quell that particular spark.

Zuko comes out to watch, and Iroh sits next to him, talking to the boy, and Zhao has a feeling there is some sort of commentary on his performance. He gets a few of the soldiers to 'spar' with him - it's been a while since he's put someone on the floor, and it will perhaps impress upon the Prince a bit of healthy respect before their next encounter.

"Widen your stance." Zhao almost blows the ship up, but the General isn't talking to him - it's the next vict...soldier due for the informal sparring circle.

Of course, the Dragon of the West wouldn't undermine him by criticising his technique in front of the rank-and-file. But that doesn't stop him from giving the other soldiers a few pointers, a few whispered encouragements.

When one of them diverts his first blast - which has often been the only move Zhao has needed to make in a duel - his eyes narrow.

* * *

The Northern Air Temple is already Fire Nation property, it seems. Which doesn't exactly fill Zuko's heart with patriotic fervour - one less hiding place for the Avatar. At least the current 'tenant' is willing to give out whatever old airbender scrolls - they're covered in scrawled notes and designs that pique Zhao's interest even as he processes the General's latest request.

"You want these copied?"

"Prince Zuko would like copies with only the original text and illustrations, so he may study the airbenders more thoroughly."

Not a bad move, really, if you expected to fight the Avatar. Which no one reasonable would, but that was besides the point.

"We can hire a scribe, I'm sure."

"Excellent. I had wondered if you might like to make a copy for yourself, and discuss their contents."

"Oh?" Zhao would rather eat the scroll, frankly.

"You were a student of Admiral Jeong Jeong's, yes?"

He freezes. His whole body goes rigid, and this stupid old man is still looking at him like they're cordially discussing tea brewing, or music, or whatever nonsense.

"Yes."

"Admiral Jeong Jeong is noted for his unusual style, derived from his many travels. Waterbending is his main influence, I believe, but there are hints of airbending as well. I thought you might have some insight on the interactions of different bending styles."

"Yes. I would be...honoured, to join you."

The old man hadn't meant to make the point he had, Zhao is sure, but it is a good one nonetheless.

If he is to face Jeong Jeong one day, then knowledge is to be his weapon.

* * *

The resulting exercise is an insult to whatever shred of dignity he has left.

They look at the scrolls, most of which have been rendered incomplete. Those missing illustrations, they paint their own interpretations of what they think the techniques look like, and show them to each other.

In essence, Iroh makes them take a child's painting lesson, where they all have to produce their best Air Nomad. It's humiliating.

From the session, Zhao learns a few things - airbenders tried to fight by not fighting, most of the time. This was probably why they were all dead.

And he learns what Zuko's scar looks like, after the boy gets frustrated trying to read and draw with one eye, and rips the bandage off in a fit of pique.

Zhao has seen worse, but not much, and he wonders what kind of boneheaded move resulted in such an injury.

Also, annoyingly, even when Zuko's injured eye is not quite focusing right, he is a better artist than Zhao is. That shouldn't sting as much as it does. What does sting is that Zuko apparently learned this skill from Master Piandao, of all people. How did that even make sense? What, was Iroh going to teach him the tsungi horn instead of firebending?

"This is pointless," Zuko grumbles.

"Learning is never pointless, Prince Zuko," Iroh intones, mistakenly. Zhao's learned plenty of things he wished he didn't know. Things that had brought him all kinds of trouble.

"Perhaps the Prince is merely commenting on the Avatar knowing more than one bending style," Zhao drawls, "it might be best to broaden our horizons. Maybe we should make a trip round the North Pole for some waterbending scrolls, while we're in the area?"

It's meant to be a joke. It is _clearly_ a joke.

The Prince eyes him carefully.

_It was a joke._

The Northern Water Tribe has been holed up in their ice fortress for decades. Anytime they poke their head out, they are forced back. Their only interactions with the outside world are on one end or the other of piracy.

_He wouldn't._

Iroh grimaces.

If Zhao had put a timetable on when they were going to turn to piracy, it would not have been this early on. But then, the universe just loves to prove him wrong, doesn't it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Implied torture, Zhao being both a vaguely sympathetic mess *and* a grade A so-and-so. Zuko being a pre-growth brat, though a lot of that is also down to perspective. Tea.

"Nephew, I do not think the most effective way to acquire a waterbending scroll is to demand one from a patrolling ship."

"I need a waterbending scroll, Uncle!" Does the child ever _not_ shout?

"Truly, to learn from the other nations is wise," that's an interesting statement from the Dragon of the West, Zhao thinks, "but there are easier methods of acquiring this knowledge. Maybe if we inquired at the port?"

"We've already inquired at the port." Oh right, the brat will also hiss. 

"If I might be so bold as to interject," Zhao interjects, "your Uncle is right in that we could make more...intensive inquiries. At the port, rather than of an unknown number of waterbenders."

Zhao knows how this game is played. They had made small talk, put out a few feelers, wondering 'idly' if this neutral port, so near the North Pole, ever had any Water Tribe ships coming through. There was the occasional runaway, of course - not everybody wanted to spend their lives cocooned in a frigid wasteland. Pirates, naturally. But the most interesting bit of trading going on in that direction was in fish. Maybe furs. Nothing approximating any sort of knowledge. And those deals, of course, took place on the fringes of the Tribe's territory rather than in the port itself, where there would presumably be waterbenders, visible and not, all around the deal.

All above board, all very expected.

But there were always deals done in the dark.

And fire had a way of illuminating hidden truths.

"Intensive inquiries?" Zuko frowns, either in disapproval or confusion - the boy's expressions are so naturally unhappy that it throws off Zhao's ability to read them.

Iroh, however, gets the point. It's obvious by the way his face goes carefully blank. But then, any General would have some familiarity with 'intensive inquiries', surely. Then the old man's face brightens.

"Of course! We need more varieties of tea!"

_What?_

"What?" Zuko echoes his thoughts.

"Excellent idea, Lieutenant. Let us execute it together. Nephew, stay here and work on your drills."

Usually, Iroh is only accompanied by his nephew, and maybe a few helpers. So it is a rare 'treat' for Zhao to spend an afternoon hunting down a somehow endless list of tea leaves, which briefly (horrifyingly) extends to a field excursion picking plants.

For once, Zuko is happy to stay on the ship.

_Brat._

Zhao returns to the ship with dirty hands and grass somehow _in_ his beard, wondering yet again if perhaps banditry and/or piracy might be valid career options after all. It's at this moment the former General chooses to give him something of a reprieve. 

"Ah, it is time to share these lovely brews with the locals. Nephew, come join me."

Zhao is not one to praise the Sun or any spirits for deigning to give him a break every now and again, but he's sorely tempted.

* * *

 _"_ He knew something!" At least it will never be hard to tell when the Prince is coming back to the ship.

"Prince Zuko, to shout at one's host -"

"He's just a postmaster! I'm a _Prince!_ Or did you forget?"

"No, Prince Zuko, I merely -"

Every door slam between the deck and the Prince's quarters seems to shake the ship - Zhao is certain the child finds a few extra doors on the way, to add to the drama.

Iroh sighs.

"Ah, Lieutenant Zhao. I have a request to make of you."

"Of course, General Iroh."

"Former General," Iroh says with a fond smile, and that Zhao has had to lower himself to having this 'running joke' with a wash-up like Iroh makes his stomach twist, "I need you to bring us to the borders of Water Tribe waters - we will take a smaller vessel from there. Prince Zuko and I must train in a particular technique."

Zhao nods. Could this be a cover? Are they going to deliberately entice a Water Tribe ship to come after them, so they might plunder it? But then, what are the odds it will happen to be carrying scrolls on waterbending techniques? They would have steal the ship itself, then use it to infiltrate the Pole, and if the ship were small enough, or with a distraction, perhaps they could sneak into the Spirit Oasis, where Zhao could grab - 

_No._

All it would take -

_Stop. Stop stop stop!_

And he could finally fulfil his destiny, take that Spirit in his hands and - 

Zhao takes a deep breath. He cannot lose himself here, not when the Oasis is so close, and how difficult would it be, truly, to sneak by and - 

Control. He needs control.

_"You have always needed 'control'. Yet you have never learned. Or perhaps you simply cannot learn. Foolish boy, what Spirit did I offend, that *you* would be my student?"_

"Lieutenant Zhao?" The General is looking at him with something akin to concern.

"Of course, General Iroh. Whatever you need."

* * *

They manage to avoid whatever patrols the North sends out - Iroh has a very specific route for them to follow so that they won't get caught, one that works suspiciously well. How, Zhao wonders, does the old man know where the boats will be? It's almost like he has some sort of 'in' with the Tribe, some information that the rest of them, and the rest of the Fire Nation military structure, is somehow not privy to. If Zhao had information like that, he could use it to slip by the borders himself, let himself into the city, where he could find - 

_Stop._

The two Royals leave them in the dead of night, Zuko apparently mollified, either by this training Iroh has promised him, or by the fact that he gets to pilot the ship - a terrifying idea if ever Zhao has heard one. The boy can barely see as it is, and it's dark out. What is Iroh thinking?

Iroh leaves him with this:

"Lieutenant Zhao. Remember that you represent my nephew wherever you go. Be sure to treat the locals with the respect they deserve."

Zhao nods, confident that he understands - of course, no one in that sad little fishing village 'deserves' his respect. It's clear to him that Iroh has come up with this excuse so that he might spare his nephew the more 'practical' side of their ventures - the old man does seem to coddle the boy. But no matter. Iroh has ordered them to come back in a week, apparently confident they will not need protection.

In the meantime, Zhao will do his job. With enthusiasm, even.

The postmaster, was it?

* * *

_"No, please!"_

_"Oh, I'm sorry. You'd think I would have more...self-control, wouldn't you? But that's always been an issue of mine."_

_"Ah..ah-ah!"_

_"My fire runs very hot, you see. My teachers despaired of me *ever* controlling it, and well...sometimes I still **struggle**."_

_"Please!"_

_"Oh, don't shout. You'll startle me."_

_"Auuuugh!"_

* * *

The ship comes to a cove around midnight, once a month. It picks up packages from Ba Sing Se in the dead of night, hidden by the darkness and by the cove's awkward location - it is difficult to see from town.

Normally, the postmaster will drop the package there, bury it under a specific rock, then leave before he can be seen by anyone. But alas, it will be a while before the old man will be able to carry out any of his duties. And the pick-up coming up this week as well!

It was up to them to help him out.

* * *

_"We d-don't -"_

_"Hmm? I'm sorry, I don't speak North Pole Savage. Men? Are any of you fluent in Savage?"_

_A chorus of 'No, Sir's._

_"How embarrassing for a naval force."_

_"Please!"_

_"No, still nothing. Let's try something else. Do you speak 'waterbending scrolls'?"_

_"I-I we're just builders! The scrolls are building designs, we don't - aiiieee!"_

_"Well, fortunately for you, I *do* speak Burning Tribesman. And what I just heard is your generous offer to help us with our waterbending scrolls. While we look after your friend here. Do I have that right?"_

_"Y-yes."_

_"Wonderful."_

* * *

When Iroh and the boy return, they don't look like firebenders who have just spent a week training in the North Pole. They seem fine, even though the thought of that much _ice_ and _cold_ would make any self-respecting firebender sick to even think of. Unless there was something to gain. Glory, fame, a victory of Man over Spirit...

_Breathe. Stop._

The old man had probably snuck them both off to some sort of resort rather than the frozen North. Why else would they broken from the ship for so long, in such a random location? Unless they knew what was in the North Pole. Unless they were going to steal his glory from him, his destiny, his -

_Enough!_

Zhao breathes, and presents the Prince with a fine collection of waterbending scrolls.

(He's already made his own copies)

Iroh eyes him suspiciously, which is confusing in more ways than one - he had only done what the older man had all but asked him to.

"And how did you acquire this collection, Lieutenant?"

Zhao smiles.

"Oh, I've had some time to gain the cooperation of the locals. They're quite accomodating, really."

For the first time in their journey, Iroh looks genuinely unhappy over something other than poorly brewed tea. Zhao doesn't understand. The Prince is happy, or as happy as the Prince gets. Zhao has done the dirty work, while Royal hands have stayed clean. 

Isn't that what the old man had wanted?

No matter. Their journey continues. He will be glad to leave this place, so achingly close to the Oasis.

Besides. Zhao had studying to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few references to "North and South" here, nothing major.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Get this thing away from me. Warning: Attempts to write fight scenes ahead. Also: A character has a drawn out anxiety attack, another character is a dick about it internally. Guess who. And some burns.

Zhao had been to more tea ceremonies in the last couple of months than he would have previously imagined possible. There had been a mad moment in which he had convinced himself that the particular blends Iroh used must be...unconventional ones. It would explain a lot, including why the old man drank so much of it. But no.

The General just really, really, _really_ liked tea.

This one was a bit different. Zuko wasn't there, that was the main thing. The young Prince was usually present at these, since to Iroh a tea ceremony and a staff meeting were pretty much the same thing. They would spend time discussing the running of the ship, the course they were on, the budget, all the technicalities thereof. Zuko could be surprisingly calm during these, rarely shouting during their discussions, though he often vibrated with poorly repressed energy, and the temperature of whatever room they were in would be far higher by the time they were done.

The other main difference was in Iroh's expression - normally smiling calmly, the old man was content to sit back, enjoy his tea and let his nephew work things out with the ship's captain, sometimes offering a proverb or thinly veiled order to Zhao that Zuko never seemed to catch . He was not smiling now. Instead, Iroh bore a grave look on his face, one that only slightly relaxed when he breathed in the scent of his tea. Jasmine, rather than ginseng. Zhao wondered if that had some hidden meaning he was supposed to divine. Iroh sipped it. Zhao followed suit, already tired of this game of who-would-speak-first, determined not to lose regardless.

"The waterbending scroll."

...well. That had been easy.

"How did you acquire it?"

Zhao smirked, then quickly realised smirking was apparently not a good idea from Iroh's answering expression. So he smoothed his face into something more professional, and answered honestly. More or less.

"They shouldn't have been keeping information from us. From the Fire Nation. _Particularly_ not Royalty. So I took some of the men and we, well. Corrected them."

"I see." Iroh took another sip. "Why?"

Zhao's eyebrows furrowed. He thought, perhaps, that taking a sip of his own in response would give him the time to think of a response. Or at least annoy the older man a little.

"Why?" He repeated into Iroh's blank face.

_Damn._

"I believe I have been clear."

"The Prince wanted a scroll. We got him several."

"Through means that dishonoured yourselves and by extension, Prince Zuko."

"Dishon-" Was he _hearing_ this right? "General Iroh, you of all people should know how this works."

"Perhaps you and I know different ways of waging war."

Zhao has a few things to say to that.

_"Yes, I was taught to win."_

_"Yes, I learned war down in the dirt, and you from a tent lined with luxuries."_

_"Yes, I learned how to keep the filth off of fat, lazy, spoiled old men like you, and spoiled, petulant, idiot young princelings like that waste you call nephew."_

He doesn't say them. They burn behind his teeth, itching to be free, but Iroh's eyes are boring into him, and Zhao remembers another set of golden eyes, another Royal disapproving of his methods. Remembers a fire like nothing he'd ever seen, remembers the chill and darkness that followed.

Remembers Azulon.

Iroh takes his silence as...well, he doesn't know. Clearly, other nobles are easier to read than the Fire Lord's own line. Zuko excepted - Zhao has hardly met a shallower well. But what Iroh says next -

"It is a natural reaction, to lash out when you have been hurt."

_What?_

"Forgive me, General Iroh." Zhao puts on his best ingratiating smile. "I'm not suffering from any injuries at the moment."

"An injury of the spirit can cause as much harm as any wound of the flesh. Sometimes more."

He will not roll his eyes. He will not roll his eyes. He will not -

"I think you may have gotten the wrong idea. Yes, I applied some pressure to the peasantry. I thought you had, ah, implied I should keep that sort of thing away from the Prince."

"I didn't."

"I see that now." Zhao growls, because no, he _had_ gotten the right message, Iroh is just too soft to see what he himself had done. Obviously. "I'll make sure that such things will only happen on explicit orders from now on."

"There will be no orders of that nature, Lieutenant, explicit or otherwise."

"Of course." Zhao does not snort.

"But I worry about you, Lieutenant Zhao."

"I assure you, there's no need."

"To so abuse those you see as beneath you, you must be in great pain indeed."

"I'm fine."

"Forgive me, but I would think if you viewed these people as being much like yourself -"

_What._

"What?"

Silence. It's only that Iroh has stopped speaking mid-sentence that lets Zhao know he himself has spoken out loud. Well. Growled, more than spoken. Iroh raises an eyebrow.

"Do you not see it?"

"I'm afraid." Deep breaths. "That I don't, no." He just barely keeps the sarcasm drenched _enlighten me_ at bay.

"Zhao." Iroh's face has taken on hints of - it actually looks like...no. "You are much like the people you threatened and abused. You too were subject to the whims of the powerful. You suffered under people you could not retaliate against.

_Pity._

If Iroh says anything more, if there are more proverbs and spirit talk and mind talk, Zhao doesn't hear it. He puts down the teacup. He tells himself to breathe.

_"I said breathe!"_

Zhao is a bonfire.

_"You have no control."_

All this nonsense is just...kindling.

_"A burning forest feeds no one, shelters no one. What is the use of a burning forest, boy?"_

Zhao stands. Bows.

And makes a mistake.

* * *

Years earlier, a much younger Zhao is making a similar, but different mistake.

His teacher is looking up at him even as he looks down on him. This is one of Jeong Jeong's many impressive skills - the man could be standing on his head dressed like a Kyoshi Warrior, and he would probably still be able to look at Zhao the same way. With condescension and contempt. Zhao is tired of that look. It's time he let that be known.

"An Agni Kai."

Zhao flushes.

"No, Master. I merely wish to test my skills."

"With an Agni Kai."

"A heavy spar. Master."

"You and I do not 'spar', Zhao. You spar with the others."

"Yes, Master. But they are not, forgive me, quite up to the same standard."

Jeong Jeong snorts. Zhao's flush gets deeper.

"I mean only that our spars are often over too quickly."

"Because you are terrible at sparring."

That. That doesn't make sense.

"Forgive me, Master....I always _win_."

Jeong Jeong actually _laughs._ It's a sound that will echo in Zhao's ears for years to come. More familiar, but no less terrifying, is when the laughter stops, and Jeong Jeong is glaring at him.

"Exactly!"

...apparently Jeong Jeong is going to leave it at that. Zhao is terrible because he wins all the time - a sneer crawls onto his face before Zhao can catch it, and he can't bring himself to care.

"Why should I make myself less than I am? Why should I still be _standing_ and _breathing_ all day when -"

"You wish to stop breathing?"

"You know what I mean!" The room has been getting hotter every moment since Zhao stepped into it, but just then there's a little spark, a flicker that could turn into a flame. "I'm leagues ahead of any of these fools! I can produce bigger, brighter, hotter flames than any of your students!"

"You burn brighter, and so you will fade all the sooner."

"I'm going to request a different teacher." Not too long ago, this would have been a ridiculous thing for Zhao to say. Jeong Jeong may be an infuriating old man, but he's one of the best firebenders in the world. To learn under him is a privilege, though Zhao and his master have both come to see it as a burden.

"Good." Jeong Jeong's face has barely changed. Every snort, laugh, eyebrow raise, sneer, it appears on his face for just long enough for Zhao to see, then it disappears. There is no emotion the master shows that is not a calculated move. Zhao recognises this. He knows that each expression is only a weapon, bared long enough to make a strike and no longer. Zhao also knows that Jeong Jeong knows that Zhao knows what he is doing, adding yet another layer of infuriating nonsense to this whole thing.

"You won't find another student like me!"

"Perhaps that is true. Though I have taught many fools, you are the the most pointless, most unteachable, most foolish and savage _oaf_ that I have seen in the entirety of my military career."

Zhao opens his mouth to retort, with what he doesn't know. Maybe a massive explosion of fire. The point is moot, anyway - Jeong Jeong hasn't finished.

"Your attempts at cunning and political climbing are base and transparent, but at least there is some attempt at subtlety. If you could translate even that into your sorry excuse for firebending, maybe there would be hope. Instead, you waste my time, barely attempting the most fundamental of exercises in favour of your 'abilities' and 'gifts'. Do you think a child marvelling at their own flames is a master firebender, Zhao? Is this your model? Shall I call one of the local infants to instruct you in your preferred style?"

Zhao had never heard the master talk so much. Never been so thoroughly insulted. But the rage that courses through his body, that seeks to explode from his clenched fists in a blazing inferno? That he knows. Sometimes, it feels like he was born with it already burning inside his heart. It has made him strong, and successful, and he knows it will make him Great.

But right now, it's going to make him do something incredibly, blindingly stupid.

Zhao opens his mouth, and makes a mistake.

* * *

When they make port, Iroh announces that he is going to be taking a walk with the Lieutenant. The Prince, naturally, protests, certain that they are trying to leave him out of some sort of important administrative discussion, as if such a thing exists on this dragon hunt. His uncle takes him aside, there are some whispered words.

"WHAT?"

Well. Iroh whispers, anyway. So it is that Zhao is joined by both his flag officers on their 'walk'. If there's one good thing to come out of this, it's that he gets to see the Prince looking nervous. Immensely nervous, actually. His already pale skin has turned the colour of wax, an image aided by the beads of sweat that roll down his face, something which must irritate that raw scar quite a bit. For all the breathing exercises he's been doing the last while, Zuko's breathing is wildly erratic, eyes flickering between Iroh and Zhao. At least he keeps his lip from trembling, his face a firm royal facade. For his own part, Zhao does not shiver and quake like a child, but keeps his face solemn and stern, giving the event all of the respect it deserves. Iroh stops to sniff flowers and make small talk with passing merchants. 

Zhao does not think of 'The Dragon of the West'. He does not think of an old man sneaking into his room undetected and dismissing his attack with no more visible effort than, say, stopping to lift a small child up after a fall.

He does not think of the last time he faced a master.

* * *

Any given Agni Kai is bound to attract some attention, if run through the proper channels and announced publicly. Neither Zhao nor Jeong Jeong were inclined to do that, for different reasons, but there were very few people who had _not_ heard Zhao shouting his challenge into the master's face, and there were surprisingly few things to do in a port/firebending camp apart from get into and/or observe honour duels. Of course, with most of these, Jeong Jeong would show up and prevent either party from being too severely injured - it was, after all, a waste of his time teaching them if they were only going to light _each other_ on fire, though he was very clear that it was only moderately less wasteful if they didn't.

This particular duel, though. This was something special.

Zhao was their top student. That was a widely accepted fact, if not one accepted by the teacher himself. How many other people in their camp - in the whole of the Fire Nation, even - could launch a massive fireball with no wind-up and virtually no stance? Zhao could produce a bigger flame than any of them while standing on his head and drinking contraband, and had done so on several occasions, just to prove he could.

Jeong Jeong...was Jeong Jeong. They were in awe of him and his legend. They feared his wrath. They hated him, almost unanimously, for his preaching about 'restraint', his ludicrously high and unfathomable standards, the way he bore himself.

If there was one thing that was going to draw a crowd, it was the feeling that if either party got horribly burned, no one was going to feel too bad about it. Those were the best kind of Agni Kai.

Zhao stood, shed his shoulder garment, and took a fighting stance.

Across the field, Jeong Jeong stood with one hand behind his back, the other in front of him only to cover his mouth while he yawned. A particular group of soldiers would thereafter forever swear they were able to see a vein pulsing in Zhao's temple, all the way from their position atop one of the camp's watchtowers.

* * *

Iroh picks the spot, a clearing whose main draws are, apparently, not that it it is very spacious and unlikely to start a wildfire, but that it doesn't contain any pretty flowers they might accidentally burn away.

No, really. The reasoning even breaks Zuko out of... whatever it is that's going on with him. Zhao thinks it might be a stomach bug. But then they're readying themselves for battle, and the Prince goes back to clenching his fists and making embarrassingly obvious attempts to recall his breathing exercises. Iroh asks him to reiterate the rules of the Agni Kai, as if the Prince is a small child and the two men do not already know them.

"The duel is to - to first burn. Both contestants," Zuko swallows, and really, Zhao hadn't thought the princeling was *this* soft and spoiled, "have acknowledged the chance of death or serious injury, and waived their rights to contest any such occurrence. I, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, son of Ozai and Ursa, shall bear witness."

Taking a ready stance, Zhao reflects on the ridiculousness of this spectacle - he himself is still young, strong and fit. The Dragon of the West is...decidedly not any of those things. With his chest bared, the old man looks even older and heavier than usual - a walking, or perhaps waddling, tribute to the ravages of time and soft living. Zhao can admit that he himself has been aged a bit by his disaster of a military career, but he's almost embarrassed to have engaged himself in this. 

_"And for what," Jeong Jeong doesn't sneer, but Zhao imagines the old man cares enough to, "your foolish, ill-founded pride?"_

Zhao pictures a different man in Iroh's stead.

The bright, hot fire that bursts from his fist makes Zuko clench his own hands tight.

* * *

Zhao punches blast after blast, fists alternating in sharp, powerful movements. He moves, feet stomping the ground as he angles himself to the side and towards his opponent. People might say Zhao doesn't understand subtlety, but that isn't true - it suits him here, altering his position just so, letting these seemingly inconsequential steps move his attacks in degrees that changes how his opponent must defend himself. An Agni Kai that starts at such a distance - as most do - is quite the equaliser, as many older warriors maintain the necessary flow of chi to allow them to engage in such combat. Zhao will eat that distance, of course, though part of him, an unrealistic part that is used to having won by now, is annoyed that he has to. Zhao prefers to crush his opponents quickly and decisively, a big part of why 'subtlety' does not usually factor into his style of combat, as sly as he can be outside of it. But he will be patient, he thinks as he fires great streams of flame that are handily diverted, stifled, deflected. He will use the arrogance of his opponent to close the gap, then crush them with the ferocity of his strength and vitality once he is up close.

The irony of this line of thought is lost on him. Both times.

* * *

Jeong Jeong moves like no other firebender Zhao has ever seen - even the few demonstrations he's seen of the older man's technique up till now are another world away. The circular movements to defend against him are somewhat familiar, but then the Admiral starts to make the circles with the rest of his body as well, walking around while slowly moving his arms, feet drawing patterns in the dirt. His eyes are closed, which makes Zhao growl and redouble his assault. The extra flames miss or are sent to the side, but not dispelled - no, Jeong Jeong starts to move his arms up and down in time with his breathing, in time with the rising fire, and suddenly Zhao cannot see him, cannot see anything. He is in a burning labyrinth, the light and heat making it hard to discern anything around him, let alone where his teacher is. If he were not a firebender, he would have fainted by now. Undeterred, Zhao runs to where he last saw his teacher, but of course the man is gone. The wall of fire he dove through to get there becomes a wave that makes to crash down on him, but breaks against his power and fury.

Zhao runs through the wave, sure that his teacher must be behind it, straight into another tide.

And so it goes.

* * *

It's that Iroh is also trying to close the distance that disturbs him - has the other man forgotten his own age? By any reasonable estimate, Zhao will dominate up close.

_His father had looked quite frail, hadn't he? Quite aged? How had that particular impression held up?_

Fear, remembered and new, worms its way into Zhao. The anger that fills him at feeling such a thing only makes him more ferocious, more dangerous, more powerful.

_"Fool."_

* * *

"Fool." He hears in his ear. Zhao whips round to silence the voice, feeling a hand gently pushing him as he does so. The tiny push, when he's in the process of turning around, when he's been surprised (spooked), is enough to topple him. Scrambling, it's as Zhao stands up completely unmolested that he realises that should have been it. Should have been the end several times over in those few moments. Jeong Jeong had snuck up on him undetected, had put him on the floor and made him unable to defend himself, would have been able to kill him at his leisure. Yet his opponent is nowhere to be seen. Is toying with him.

"Coward!" Zhao yells, the fire around him rising to meet his towering rage. "Fight me like a man!"

"Like this?"

A flurry of sparks flies towards him, small but hot enough to burn him, too numerous to dodge reliably. Zhao's hands blur as he overpowers them with his own flames, straight at their source, a wall of fire that bends even as his attack does, twisting and parting to reveal - 

_Jeong Jeong!_

Zhao brings his hands together and drags them just above the ground, sending a wave of his own at his master, who in turn is sending a fiery whip at his face. The whip crackles and sparks just over his just-ducked head, then draws back for another strike, leaving Jeong Jeong wide open - 

Or that's what should happen. But as the whip draws back, it draws Zhao's own attack with it, up into the air, and suddenly his technique has become yet another wave heading for him. He shatters it in one blow, frustrated but not tired, not in the least bit fatigued by any of these cheap tricks, while his opponent is old, weak, cannot keep this up for long, he can still win!

The fire around them begins to die down, slowly. Has the old man conceded? Or will he finally face him in a straight-up confrontation? Jeong Jeong hadn't moved from his spot, was not making any movements at all, merely watching him.

Smirking, Zhao steps towards him- 

\- and immediately collapses to the ground, screaming in agony.

* * *

At the same time Zhao gets tired of this game of 'closing the distance', Iroh does too. Or at least, that's what Zhao gathers from the way the General breathes a stream of fire at him.

That word, 'stream', is very important. It's not something that's often employed, for various reasons, not to the degree Iroh is employing it now (how can the old man breath for this long?). It is difficult to defend against because of its continuous nature - Zhao must grab it, divert it to the side, step round to the other side as he diverts, and not die. All more difficult than it sounds. It _should,_ though, allow him to fire away at a more-or-less prone Iroh to his heart's content, once he is clear of the dragon's breath. It does not work out that way, because the breath moves _with_ him as he moves, because apparently Iroh's large belly is actually to accommodate a freakishly large pair of lungs. Zhao just has to tough it out. Fine. He has plenty of endurance.

Of course, he can't really see while this is going on, which is a problem. By the time the move has ended, Iroh has just walked right up to him, which Zhao reacts to admirably by trying to burn the other man's face off with a punch. 

This does not end well for Zhao.

* * *

_My legs. My legs._

He doesn't want to look down. He doesn't want to see what's been done to him. How? How?

He looks down.

Across both his shins, a straight line of white, the skin around it growing red and blistered.

_The whip._

Struck across his legs while he was busy with his own reflected attack, quick as lightning, so cleanly done he hadn't even felt it until he'd tried to walk.

He can feel it now. He doubts he'll ever feel anything else, ever again. Shameful tears fill his eyes, low sounds of agony escape his throat, leaping out into the air to assault his dignity. Through blurred vision, he sees Jeong Jeong's back.

Sees him walking away.

They all walk away, every one of them. Do they smile? Chuckle under their breath? Shake their heads? Whatever they feel, not one soul stops even to talk to him. They don't even look in his direction.

Barely able to think, Zhao crawls off to some forsaken corner to lick his wounds.

_Something is wrong._

Yes, Zhao snarls internally. His legs have just had strip of skin burned off of them. He can still smell them cooking.

But as the sun sets, as the ache turns into a sort of perverse lullaby, not so much fading as surpassing his ability to deal with, this thought settles into his mind.

_This is wrong._

_Something is wrong._

_This isn't my destiny._

It is a thought that will recur many, many times.

* * *

The sun is high in the sky. Zhao had been aware of this. It hadn't required him to look straight at the sun in question, which is what he's doing now.

Iroh has his arm up, twisted gently enough that it doesn't hurt, not gently enough that it wouldn't hurt to try and move it out of Iroh's grip. The rest of Zhao is lying in the dirt, which feels quite appropriate. Iroh moves forward to look at him, his head blocking out the sun, expression unreadable.

"Well?" Zhao drawls. "Finish it." He won't be toyed with, or show fear.

"Ah." And Iroh taps a spot on Zhao's wrist. "It is already done! Honour is restored. A good match, Lieutenant. Very well fought."

Zhao's arm is suddenly his own again. He hauls himself up to a sitting position, working blood back into the freed limb. Naturally, he looks at the spot Iroh had tapped on his wrist.

There, under his thumb, is an absolutely _tiny_ burn, probably applied with the Dragon's own thumb when he'd thrown him. Zhao can't even feel it unless he pokes the spot in question.

Which he does, of course, wincing.

"That was very educational, would't you agree Prince Zuko?" 

Wide-eyed, the Prince nods. Now that the whole thing is over, he almost seems worse than before, turning around to collect himself, muttering something to his Uncle. Zhao can't bring himself to care all that much about the content of their conversation. The brat's presence adds to his humiliation, yes, but the humiliation in question is somehow...less, than what he'd expected. Part of him had expected to lose, even to a supposed wash-up like Iroh. If anything, that he had felt any fear of losing at all was what had prompted him to make his challenge, rather than any potential gain or victory.

But there is something, in having a better picture of Iroh's capabilities. In knowing something of his weakness. Zhao eyes the Prince, who is being...comforted. It's disgusting. Illogical. Like the tiny, inconsequential burn on his wrist, done to appease the Prince's weak stomach or some such nonsense.

Yes, this Agni Kai hasn't been a total waste. Like many of Zhao's losses, it's taught him a lesson. Seared it into him on a level deeper than this paltry wound or any other.

Fire reveals hidden truths, he thinks, watching Uncle and Nephew - their weakness laid bare in the wake of the fire duel.

He had learned that much from his old master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much more of this has ended up being pre-canon than I anticipated. It is a good thing I make a habit of never promising organised updates, because can you imagine?

**Author's Note:**

> For Jeong Jeong's characterisation, or a hint of it anyway, in this AU, see [ 'Blue Spirit Gambit'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526608/chapters/61934236)


End file.
